


Uneasiness

by Franzbibliothek



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anxiety, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Social Media
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2018-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-24 19:37:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10748418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Franzbibliothek/pseuds/Franzbibliothek
Summary: It seemed that 99% of the time it didn't matter, but occasionally it really did.





	1. We Are All Left Shark

**Author's Note:**

> When I started watching Yuri on Ice, I found myself writing cathartic little scenes having to do with oblique references to homophobia, with more emphasis on Yuuri's complex feelings than anything else. I've found a lot of fics that decide to include the existence homophobia in the Yuri on Ice universe a little silly? So, my only hope with these is that they come across as genuine and not an attempt to use homophobia as a dramatic device.
> 
> This first part I wrote basically in a rage, because I was researching Daisuke Takahashi (if you love yourself look up cyberswan!) and the third link when I searched his name was an article titled "Is Daisuke Takahashi gay?" like seriously? Couldn't someone write an article about how cute his dog is instead?

Public figures by their very nature had public personas. The private self as it was is too fragile a thing to suffer much scrutiny and demanded protection. Yuuri Katsuki, as an international competitive athlete, by default, had a public persona, or rather he had listened very quietly to the media consultant the JSF sent him to when he first won nationals and did his best to follow the truly dizzying amount of rules and regulations (that put the complexity of the figure skating scoring system to shame) of interacting appropriately in the public as a representative of the JSF. A task he accomplished best by doing and saying as little as possible. During interviews he would resolutely stick to the safe subjects of his season’s plan and his hometown, sidestepping any personal questions that might occasionally be flung his way.     
  
Yuuri Katsuki the person wasn’t very interesting anyway.  
  
Yuuri’s eyes blurred as he re-read his paper for the third time, his laptop perched on his stomach and probably altogether too close to his face. He set it down on his floor for a moment, removing his glasses, and rubbed his eyes.  
  
It was going to take him six years to graduate by this point. His poster of Victor smiled genially back at him from the foot of his bed. In theory the poster (a going away gift from Yuuko) was supposed to be motivating, but in reality it was becoming just another reminder of how very far from his goal he was. Yuuri pressed his face in the pillow, maybe just giving everything up and hiding from society for the rest of his days might be the more reasonable option here. This was also the same moment that Phichit decided to barge into his room, half dancing.  
  
“Yuuri! Get up! We’re going to Pride!”  
  
There were a lot of things that Yuuri enjoyed about living with Phichit Chulanont: he kept his clutter to his areas of the apartment, he was always happy to share his take-out, and he was a genuinely kind and wonderful person to be around. Everyday Yuuri felt honored to be Phichit’s friend, especially because he was self-aware enough to realize that he was hardly the easiest person to be friends with.  
  
But sometimes Phichit would get it into his head that Yuuri needed to be socialized.  
  
Yuuri turned over towards the wall with a little disagreeing whine. Isolating himself from all civilization was clearly his destiny.  
  
“C’mon, you’ve got to go. Pride is a quintessential American experience.” Phichit said, coming over to Yuuri’s bed and tugging on his sleeve.  
  
“I’ve got work to do.” Which thanks to the nature of being a college student and a competitive figure skater was always true, and gave Yuuri a ready-made excuse. He made an abortive motion towards his laptop that lay abandoned on the floor. “Besides, it’s not really my thing.”  
  
Phichit got a wild look in his eyes (and that was when Yuuri knew that his cause was hopeless, but he wasn’t going to yield, not right away). Phichit stalked over to the bottom of Yuuri’s bed and gestured at the walls. “Oh, really? And you paper your walls with Viktor Nikiforov’s face because it’s fashionable, hm?”  
  
On Phichit’s walls was a collection of printed out memes he spent hours painstakingly cutting out and rearranging into the most perfect collage of near incomprehensible internet humor.  
  
Whenever Yuuri was feeling particularly stressed and in need of distraction he would often find himself sitting on the floor with a pair of child’s scissors bought from CVS (because Yuuri’s mother would know if he was dulling the good kitchen scissors cutting paper) helping Phichit add to his ever growing collection. It was soothing, he had to admit, even if the contents were something of a mystery to Yuuri; except for Left Shark. Yuuri keenly understood and related to Left Shark.  
  
All this to say that Phichit had absolutely no place to stand when it came to questioning Yuuri’s decorative decisions.  
  
“You know it’s not like that. I admire him, everyone at the club admires him.” Yuuri said, and resisted the desire to point out that his walls weren’t ‘papered’ with Victor. In the first place it was next to impossible to find large high quality posters in the United States, and what Yuuri had managed to scrounge up was nothing compared to what he had been able to achieve with patience and diligence back home. Yuuri bit back this fact, which would not help him.  
  
“Yeah, and I bet Victor would go to Pride to support his friends.” And that, was perhaps true. Victor was known for pushing boundaries, for being surprising, for testing himself to the very limits of what he could achieve. He was also according to interviews a little bit thoughtless (not like Lochte, but, well, no one really expected genius athletes to be smart) and would probably agree to things like this without much thought. He also enjoyed parties, at least according to everything Yuuri had read.  
  
Yuuri sighed. “I’m not… going to dress up.”  
  
Phichit squealed upon realizing he had won, but paused. “But you love dressing up.”  
  
“This isn’t ice skating.”

* * *

The Pride celebration was no more and no less what Yuuri had come to expect from American public celebrations. Namely it was loud, hot, and filled with people. Phichit was of course sucked into a large group of friends upon arrival, some of them Yuuri recognized from the rink. Overall, it was pretty OK, that is until someone recognized Yuuri and asked for a picture.  
  
Yuuri would have tried to get out of it, except that he could feel Phichit’s eyes on him even as his friend was in a pile of people taking a selfie. Victor would be nice to his fans, Victor would be nice to his fans, this person was wearing too much cologne and touching Yuuri’s arm in a way that was way too familiar, Victor took pictures with his fans all the time.  
  
In another minute it was done though, and the person looked really happy as he babbled about putting it up on his instagram, but Yuuri was already moving away as subtly as possible even as he waved goodbye and turned back to see where Phichit had gone.  
   
Even if that had been sort of awkward it was over in a few minutes and Yuuri had actually made someone happy. Phichit would probably be proud. The rest of the day flew by in a similar overstimulated haze of blasting music, brightly colored costumes, and Phichit doing everything to get Yuuri to dance and Yuuri doing everything to not embarrass himself.  
  
By the time it was over, Yuuri was relieved to be back in his apartment and taking a shower. Alone and looking back on it he could admit that it hadn’t been a day badly spent. It had been hot and crowded, but most everyone had been infectiously happy and he’d even seen a few people dressed up as Victor, who was apparently something of an icon according to Phichit who’d caught Yuuri staring. He could honestly say he was glad he went, not that he could ever let Phichit know.  
  
At practice a few of his rinkmates even came up and mentioned they had been surprised to see Yuuri yesterday. All at once Yuuri found himself somehow involved in a circle of discussion about how they had spent the day previous. They all joked about some of the more eccentric costumes they saw and whether they could ever get away with wearing some of them on the ice. It was sort of nice to actually know about what everyone was talking about and even be able to contribute a little.  
  
Half the circle suddenly called out to someone, and Yuuri turned to see Phichit come out of the locker room, and Yuuri paused, Phichit looked upset. Yuuri stood there uselessly in concern not wanting to pry, but at a loss. Luckily for Yuuri, Phichit came right up to him and pressed his phone into Yuuri’s hand. “I’m so sorry, Yuuri.”  
  
Yuuri glanced down and saw that the screen was displaying a news article. Then he read the headline:  
  
_Is Japan’s Top Figure Skater Yuuri Katsuki gay?_  
_06/12/2014_  
  
_Just this morning pictures were released that show Yuuri Katsuki, Japan’s premiere figure skater, attending a Pride event in Detroit. Now the question is on every fan’s mind, is Japan’s ace skater gay? It certainly is not unheard of in the figure skating world, but Katsuki has been habitually very reticent about discussing his personal life, is this his way of coming out? This reporter thinks…_  
  
Yuuri read the entire article numbly, his stomach sinking to his toes. It was remarkably thorough for something that was put out so quickly, going back through interviews he doesn’t even remember giving, claiming that his way of speaking was purposely feminine, and that his fans had always had their suspicions.  
  
“This is all my fault, Yuuri. I didn’t think they would make such a big deal, sometimes I forget you’re…” Phichit trailed off with an embarrassed look.  
  
“An international athlete?” Yuuri could hardly blame him. When you spend enough time playing Mario Kart with someone you tend to forget the rest of the world’s perception of them. Now Yuuri was going to have to deal with reporters trying to call him to get his reaction. Dealing with the sudden traffic to his largely inactive social media accounts would be a pain too. Yuuri froze: what if some reporter tried to get in contact with his parents?  
  
Not that he thought for a moment that they would be angry or even upset if Yuuri ever told them that he was like that, but that it would be one more burden that he would be placing on them. One more sacrifice they would have to bear for their selfish boy who was always pursuing his own happiness without a thought of others. And to hear about it in such an impersonal way…  
  
Breaking out of his spiral of worst case scenarios Yuuri could see that Phichit felt really bad. And well Yuuri was hardly the greatest sort of friend on a good day. Phichit really hadn’t known that this would happen. Yuuri took a deep breath.  
  
“It’s OK, Phichit, at least they didn’t drag you into this. It’s not like the fact that a figure skater might be gay is really news anymore.”  
  
Phichit nodded, and Yuuri’s other rinkmates, given a chance to read the article, made snide comments about the nosy press, and patted Yuuri on the back with their support. It didn’t make the tightening in his stomach go away, but it made it perhaps easier the bear. He was hardly the first skater to be speculated about, and he wasn’t going to be the last. He wouldn’t lose his scholarship or any of his modest sponsorships, not over something like this.  
  
Then Yuuri was saved by Coach Celestino asking loudly why none of his skaters were on the ice, and everyone scattered at once. Yuuri went through his warm-ups but already knew that today was not going to be a good practice.

The worst part about the article, more than the invasion of privacy or the unwanted attention it was going to bring him, was the simple fact that it wasn’t as if the article was wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started watching Yuri on Ice, I found myself writing cathartic little scenes having to do with oblique references to homophobia, with more emphasis on Yuuri's complex feelings than anything else. I've found a lot of fics that decide to include the existence homophobia in the Yuri on Ice universe a little silly? So, my only hope with these is that they come across as genuine and not an attempt to use homophobia as a dramatic device.
> 
> This first part I wrote basically in a rage, because I was researching Daisuke Takahashi (if you love yourself look up cyberswan!) and the third link when I searched his name was an article titled "Is Daisuke Takahashi gay?" like seriously? Couldn't someone write an article about how cute his dog is instead?


	2. How to Determine Fake News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Cup of China Yuuri Katsuki decides to unwind by scrolling his feed, or rather he does not unwind.

Yuuri knew that he shouldn’t have looked up articles about the Cup of China. Viktor had given him strict instructions to stay in bed and _rest_ after everything that happened. To be fair, Yuuri was bundled up in his hotel bed, and Phichit was already texting him that they needed to have a proper gold and silver photoshoot before they left. Yuuri had to get back to him.

Yuuri clicked on another link.

Looking up post competition articles was a part of Yuuri’s routine, and his brain wouldn’t let him truly settle until he did it. It was sort of like the tongue’s irresistible urge to worry a sore tooth, something about the sharp pain then dull ache made it impossible to resist. He also needed the reassurance that everything that had happened, had really happened; that the silver medal lying on his bed table was real, that the silver hair probably clogging up the drain of his hotel room's shower was real.

As it was, the general reactions to his performances, both the short and free skate were overall positive. A few fansites were even arguing that he deserved gold (which, no, he didn’t. Phichit’s skate had been clean, energetic and utterly captivating) but even if Yuuri didn’t agree, it was nice to hear.

Less than a year ago Yuuri had thought his career was probably dead, but now... Yuuri allowed himself to glance at his medal before turning back to his phone. But the great majority of news outlets did not confine themselves to arguing the technical and artistic merits of Yuuri’s programs.

Which reminded Yuuri that he would need to contact home sooner rather than later. Only there wasn’t really a script for telling your family that you were involved with someone after they had seen you kiss them on international television. Yuuri slumped a little in bed.

He was tempted to pull the blanket over his head, and stay huddled under it until it was time for his flight. Only, Phichit would be annoyed, and Minako had already made Yuuri promise that they would get lunch together later (she probably just wanted to use it as an excuse to meet other skaters) and Victor... Yuuri sat back up and kept scrolling.

Some were quite celebratory and really a testament to how quickly some magazines could churn out think pieces on figure skating and its relationship with masculinity, effeminacy, and gender roles: most linked to programs by John Curry, Rudy Galindo or Johnny Weir... which was really flattering, slightly US-centric, but flattering. Yuuri made sure to watch a few before moving onto the different type of content people were forwarding to his half-dead social media accounts.

And, well, Yuuri once again found himself mildly impressed with how quickly some were able to publish pieces arguing that he had just managed to single-handedly ruin male figure skating for all time. The variety of reasons was also impressive: for stealing Victor away from the skating world, for only managing silver, for perpetuating the gay figure skater stereotype. There were also some less flattering underlying attitudes toward his nationality, and, well, Yuuri was glad that most everyone back home couldn’t read English very well.

Neither extremes of these reactions terribly surprised him. What did surprise Yuuri was how annoyed he found himself at one large sport outlet that was trying to deny that the kiss even happened or that if lips had touched, it had been unintentional.

"Oh no, Celestino warned me about this."

Yuuri glanced up and there was Victor, swathed in a hotel bathrobe, his hair still damp from the shower. He was smiling but Yuuri could read him well enough by now to see the slight line of worry around his eyes, the tension in his curled right hand.

"Have you been talking to coach Celestino about me?" Yuuri asked, and resisted the urge to flinch because it sounded so much like an accusation and that wasn't what Yuuri had meant at all... but if Victor was annoyed, he hid it very well.

"No, but he did mention during the medal ceremony that I should keep you away from the Internet for at least twenty-four hours after a competition. Now, I see why." Victor sat on the edge of the bed, nodding at the device in Yuuri's hand. "You should be resting."

Tendrils of guilt made themselves known in Yuuri's stomach. He put the phone face down on the bed on the side opposite of where Victor was sitting. It was a meaningless sort of gesture, Victor knew exactly the sort of things he had been looking at: _The lack of official confirmation or denial about the incident speaks louder than words about the true relationship between Victor Nikiforov and Yuri Katsuki: coach and athlete. Stop dragging their names through the mud because of an overenthusiastic hug._

Yuuri made himself turn towards Victor, who was warm and inviting, and looking at him with a soft expression that, if it didn't make the squirming guilt and doubt dissipate, it made it much easier to ignore. Really, what Sport’s Planet magazine matter compared to this?

Yuuri lifted a hand to Victor's cheek, a little wondering that this was even allowed, let alone wanted, or sought after, or _desired_. "I missed you." Yuuri said, even as he realized that it was true.

It wasn't that Yuuri disliked people or disliked spending time with people, but he had come to peace a long while ago with the fact that he was usually happiest by himself. He didn't really miss people often, certainly not people he had seen a short while ago. Victor had been in the shower for maybe twelve minutes; it seemed like it had been hours.

His train of thought derailed abruptly when Victor leaned into the hand with a soft, pleased hum. Victor's eyes were shut, and any signs of tenseness or concern seemed to leave his body. His damp hair tickled the back of Yuuri's hand, it was a little cold but Yuuri wouldn't pull away for a hundred gold medals.

"Yuuri." He said, gentle and fond.

 _Victor Nikiforov and Yuuri Katsuki. Coach and athlete. Katsuki has been habitually very reticent about discussing his personal life, is this his way of coming out?_ Years of insinuation and assumptions came up to meet Yuuri with the impact of ice after a failed jump. The squirming anxiety in his gut shifted into something else, something closer to anger.

An idea occurred to Yuuri, sudden and hot like his decision to keep all of his quad in during sectionals.

"Victor, I need your help with something."

"Yes," Victor said, breathlessly, turning his head so his lips brushed Yuuri's palm before pulling back to look at him. "Anything. What do you—" But he was cut off by Yuuri pulling him down to the bed. Victor fell against the sheets with a surprised laugh,

"Yuuri!"

Yuri Katsuki @katsuki_yuri 4m

**[image of Yuuri Katsuki and Victor Nikiforov, smiling at the camera, shirtless, and looking disheveled]**

@sportsplanet in answer to your poll on the greatest strengths of the world’s top figure skaters: I’d say, Victor has more finesse, but I have better stamina.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I wrote this basically immediately after episode 7, man its been months and I'm still not over episode 7. Oh if you're into that kind of thing here's my tumblr I'm still posting primarily Yuri on Ice fanart because I'm not over it and there are such talented artists!


	3. Sometimes Being Happy is Hard

"Do Mom and Dad know?" Mari asked, her body lax as she leaned against the boardwalk railing. The ocean breeze was chilling, but their feet had somehow lead them here after they had met up in the hotel lobby by agreement. Mari gave her cigarette a sharp flick, the ash crumbling to the pavement before she brought it back to her lips.

"No, I didn't intend..." But to continue that train of thought would lead to explaining what exactly he had intended and that was complicated and private. Yuuri stared out at the water, dark and placid in winter in a way Hasetsu's own sea rarely was. He twisted the metal railing between his bare hands, the rough metal scratchy against his palms. If Victor was here he would tut and take out his obscenely expensive hand cream and tell Yuuri to treat his body better.

"So, you got engaged by accident?" There was humor in Mari's voice and Yuuri found himself grateful that she was staring out at the water and not at him directly.

"Mom and Dad, do you think they'll mind?" Yuuri asked, hating how weak his voice sounded. After China they'd acted the same, or even perhaps more affectionate towards Victor, but Yuuri couldn't imagine anyone not loving Victor, but marriage was, it was something else.

Yuuri glanced the the ring, despite the temperature Yuuri hadn't been able to find it in himself to wear gloves.

"Mom's only ever wanted you to be happy, and since Victor does that, she'll be thrilled. Dad will probably wish that you had gotten engaged to a soccer star instead and gotten him free tickets." Mari took a thoughtful drag on her cigarette. "But, I'm sure he'll be happy for you too, once he gets over the disappointment."

Yuuri ducked his head. He had never doubted that his family loved him, but marriage couldn't be waved off as a childish infatuation that would be over soon like his skating career was going to be. Marriage, it was permanent, even just the promise of engagement, it was permanent, well it was permanent in a way that winning a medal was. Even after the ceremony was over and countless skaters will take your place, it would still always be there. That one moment where you had won.

Even if Victor left, even if he moved on and loved someone else, just this moment was worth everything. Without even realizing it, Yuuri lifted his hand up and pressed the band against his lips.

"You're gross." Yuuri brought his head up abruptly, a chill down his spine.

Only, it was just Mari standing there with a slight smile around her cigarette. "I already saw Victor kissing his ring at the restaurant. You guys aren't even married yet and you're already acting like honeymooners."

Yuuri wrinkled his nose. He had grown up in a tourist hot spring resort, he knew everything he ever wanted to about honeymooners. What a strange thought, would Victor want to go on a honeymoon?

He definitely would,Yuuri realized. Now that he thought about it Victor probably already had a travel itinerary put together. Yuuri turned this over in his mind with some trepidation, or at least that was what he was going to call the sudden pounding of his heart.

"You're not thinking of having the reception at the hot springs are you? That'd be a pain, we'd have to kick Victor out of the old banquet room, but then again, I guess he'd already be sleeping—"

"There's a lot to do before we start making any decisions like that." Yuuri cut her off.

Mari shrugged. "I'm happy for you."

There was a beat of silence as Yuuri stared at his sister for a moment before looking away. The sea here was so different from Hasetsu. "Thank you, for supporting me." Yuuri said at last, the words stumbled out poor and inadequate.

"What am I now, one of your groupies? I'm just here for Yurio." But she glanced at Yuuri and could probably make out the flush creeping up his face. "It's OK to be happy Yuuri, this is a happy thing." She said, going back to staring out at the sea, mercifully saying nothing about the tears streaming down Yuuri's face.

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

It felt strange to be back in China for Worlds. Victor joked that it was perfect for their five month anniversary. Yuuri was too nervous to ask if he was counting from their kiss on the ice after the free program or from when Victor got drunk and stripped in front of an entire restaurant while desperately clinging to Yuuri.

Victor and Yuuri entered the locker room together after morning practice. The strong odor kept Yuuri grounded as he sat and went through his ritual of unlacing his skates, while Victor picked apart how the practice had gone. Yakov had been doing the same to Yuri as they had been leaving the rink, and once Victor was done with Yuuri, Yakov would be doing the same to Victor. It felt like being part of one great tradition, a never-ending chain of blood, sweat, and criticism.

“I think this smells worse than the Barcelona locker rooms.” Phichit said, removing his skate guards on the bench next to them.

“It’s because everyone is working that much harder.” Victor said. They shared grins and Yuuri just stared at the two of them for a moment, treasuring a feeling of happiness that was impossible to express, off the ice anyways.

“Where are you guys going for lunch? Ciao Ciao and I…” Yuuri let the conversation fade into the background as he headed for the locker where he had put his shoes. Practice had gone well, the anxiety was still buzzing in his stomach, but for once when Yuuri told himself those weren’t useful thoughts, his brain seemed to be listening. Months of practice, both mental and physical, were paying off.

Yuuri opened the locker door. Oh, that explained the smell, his brain provided.

There’s a funny thing about seeing bad things: You remember the feeling of it, but not so much the thing itself. At least, that had always been the case for Yuuri, who had always been something of a feelings person.

Yuuri shut the locker door. He turned to where Victor and Phichit were still chatting. They hadn’t seen.

“Victor.” Yuuri said.

“Yes, my Yuuri?” Victor asked in a sing-song way he sometimes adopted when he’s feeling playful.

“Could you head back to the hotel and pick up a pair of shoes for me?”

Victor tilted his head. “But your shoes are—” He stood up and put a hand towards the locker, but Yuuri grabbed his wrist before he could touch the handle.

“I don’t want you to see.” Victor drew his hand back, hesitated for a moment before putting it over Yuuri’s hand, his eyebrows were drawn together in concern. Yuuri longed to smooth out the lines, they didn’t look right on his face at all.

“What’s in there?”

“Yuuri! Victor! Come on, aren’t we going to lunch? Why are you still in your skates?” Yuuri glanced over to where Phichit was now standing, shoes on, and phone already in hand.

“Phichit, do you think you could get security? I think there’s a problem with Yuuri’s locker.” Victor glanced back at Yuuri who was staring intently at their joined hands, the golden bands gleamed even under the diffused artificial lights.

“What’s happened?” Phichit came over.

“My shoes, please, Victor.” Yuuri said.

Victor stared intently before nodding and leaving the locker room.

Phichit hovered near by, not sure if touching was allowed. Yuuri had always appreciated that about Phichit, he didn’t take his natural gregariousness as an invitation to throw himself over people the way others at the Detroit Skating Rink would.

“What should I tell security?” Phichit asked.

“That someone broke into my locker.”

“Did they steal something?”

“No, just please get security.” Yuuri said, and Phichit nodded.

“I’ll get Ciao Ciao too.” He said before exiting the locker room.

Yuuri sat on the bench and took off his skates. He methodically cleaned the blades with his towel before encasing them in soft covers, and put them into his skating bag. Once his task was finished, Yuuri sat there in his socks and did not look at the locker.

* * *

 The stadium’s security during a normal event was almost invisible. They were at doors, and checked badges, but primarily they were tasked with making sure the spectators stayed where they were supposed to and Yuuri typically saw very little of them.

When agitated, they swarmed like hornets. A very polite lady in a dark vest had Yuuri leave the locker room alongside Phichit and the promised Celestino into a nearby conference room. They gave Yuuri water and asked him what had happened.

He had opened the locker. That was it. That was the entirety of what he knew.

Skating officials came by and again asked him exactly what had happened. Yuuri told them honestly: he opened the locker door and that was it.

They frowned and touched Yuuri’s shoulder. Yuuri hated it.

He fiddled with the water bottle that was empty now. It was made of cheap plastic that crumpled under his fingers. He wished he had his own water bottle. It had been in the locker.

“Hey, Yuuri, look at these cute dog pics. They’re wearing little ties!” Phichit shoved his phone in Yuuri’s face.

They were pretty cute, Yuuri made a hum of agreement. Phichit frowned, and Yuuri felt bad and wanted to roll up into a ball. Mostly he wanted to skate, or eat, or hide underneath his hotel bed.

“I found this cool dance, I think it’s some kind of meme now? We should totally do this one once we get back on the ice.” Phichit said and started to babble about choreography, Yuuri nodded along like his head was attached to a string.

“Oh, Victor, you’re back, great!” Phichit said, sounding terribly relieved. Yuuri’s head shot up, and there was Victor standing there with Yuuri’s ratty shoes in hand. Victor was smiling, but Yuuri knew that it was strained. Victor had been trying to get rid of those shoes for months because they were only held together by lint and sweat and were the most comfy things Yuuri owned.

Victor knelt down, put them on Yuuri’s feet, and laced them up. The gesture was entirely unnecessary, Yuuri wasn’t sure he could have managed it. He clung to the water bottle, the plastic crinkling.

Celestino came over after finishing a whispered conversation with a skating official. “They’re considering postponing the short program.”

All three of them on the bench straightened up at that. Phichit cried out dismayed, Victor took a sharp breathe, Yuuri stared at the half-ruined plastic bottle in his hands.

“There’s going to be an investigation into how someone was able to get past security. And what happened was so extreme…” Celestino trailed off, and Yuuri glanced at Victor furtively. He could see the curiosity, the puzzle pieces putting themselves together as the gravity of the situation made itself known. Yuuri weighing everyone down.

“What should we do?” Victor asked, his hand moved from his lap to brushing against Yuuri’s leg. Not grabbing or shoving its way into Yuuri’s space, but making itself available. All Yuuri had to do was reach for it.

“Everyone will probably be asked to go back to their hotel rooms.” Celestino said, rubbing his hair.

“No.” Yuuri said, and moved his hand, his pinky finger brushing against Victor’s. “I’m fine, I don’t want the short program to be postponed.”

“They’re making this into an investigation, Yuuri.” Celestino said.

“There are other locker rooms.” Yuuri said. “Please, just let them know that I am ready and willing to skate.”

Celestino stared at Yuuri for a long moment, Victor hooked their pinkies together. Celestino sighed. “I’ll talk to them, I can’t make any promises.” He said.

“Thank you.” Yuuri glanced down and properly held Victor’s hand in his.

* * *

 In the end, the men’s single short program was pushed back an hour to accommodate the swarming security presence. Yuuri was there in the waiting area, in his Eros costume, his earbuds in and avoiding eye contact.

Victor hovered nearby in his own costume, doing his best to discourage anyone from trying to approach Yuuri, all while sneaking his own glances.

All the skaters had a general idea of what had happened, and no one was trying to be subtle. JJ had tried to offer support with an arm around the shoulders and a promise that whoever did it would be caught. He had tried his best to be comforting, Victor hadn’t left Yuuri’s side since then.

Everyone was expecting another self-implosion like last year’s Grand Prix , it was in their eyes, their smiles, their tone of voice. The worst part was that they weren’t even wrong.

The anxiety was under Yuuri’s skin. His brain constantly returning back to this morning before being forced to scamper away, bare fingers playing with a hot pan, a burn inevitable. It was impossible to focus and Yuuri had never felt further from Eros. Victor had been trying to get him to eat his favorite brand of energy bar for the last half hour. Yuuri wasn’t hungry. His body was a strained wire being wound tighter and tighter.

Worse of all, he could see in Victor’s face that Victor was better at reading Yuuri’s moods than Yuuri had ever wanted him to be. Victor put a gentle hand on his elbow, and tugged.

Yuuri stared at him. “Come on.” He said and Yuuri found himself towed from the waiting area by the rink to an out of the way restroom.

“Sorry, I couldn’t find anywhere better.” Victor said.

“You should be with your coach.” Yuuri said, staring at the fake potted plant. The restroom smelled inoffensively of citrus.

“I’m your coach first. I already texted Yakov, he knows where I am. I think, I needed to get away from everyone too.”

A part of Yuuri couldn’t help but feel a slight thrill at being set apart from ‘everyone’ in Victor’s eyes. On the other hand, he could be costing Victor his score by distracting him like this.

Yuuri was afraid to look at Victor’s face, and even the potted plant seemed to have a sympathetic lean, wondering if he was OK.

Yuuri wasn’t OK. Yuuri didn’t know why everyone was treating whole incident like it was foreign and unexpected. As if Yuuri had never had his locker messed with before. Victor took Yuuri’s hands in his and Yuuri heard with dread Victor taking an intake of air to speak.

In the space of a moment, Yuuri could only imagine what he was going to say. That Victor couldn’t take this anymore. That Victor couldn’t keep building Yuuri up again and again at the expense to his own career. That Yuuri should start thinking about medication.

“You’re beautiful.” Victor said.

Yuuri glanced up.

Yuuri had spent a lot of time in bathrooms over the years. In fact, in the safety of his mind, he would consider himself something of a connoisseur. The universal thing about bathrooms was how the lighting made you look sallow and ill, no matter what. But Yuuri knew Victor well enough to know that he wasn’t lying.

Yuuri looked down on their joined hands, their rings glowing a little in the flat, fluorescent light. Yuuri could feel the back of his throat get scratchy as if his body’s natural reaction to being called beautiful was to prove just how wrong that sentiment was.

Yuuri wanted to wrap himself around Victor, wanted to devour and devoured by him so that it was impossible to know where one began and the other ended. Yuuri didn’t want to get makeup on Victor’s bodysuit and ruin all of Victor’s painstaking work in getting them both ready. Instead he kissed Victor’s ring.

“We should get back. My turn is coming up.” Yuuri said, pulling away.

He glanced in the mirror to make sure nothing was too smudged, but then he saw Victor’s expression. An expression he had never seen before. Not in any of the posters, not when he told Victor they were over.

“Victor.” Yuuri said, Victor’s head was still bowed.

“It seems, I’m still not very good at this.” Victor said.

“All I need is for you to stay by my side.”

“Staying by your side is what caused this to happen.”

“Victor, we both knew this sort of thing could have happened at anytime, whether we were together or not. You mentioned it every once in a while in your interviews. You called them cowards.”

“I’m angry.” He lifted his face at last, perfectly calm in a way that Yuuri knew belied his temper, which Victor kept as manicured and under control as the rest of him. “I feel like all I can do is watch.”

Yuuri pressed their foreheads together not worrying about what it might do to their foundation. “That’s all I want from you. I don’t want you to take your eyes off me.”

The bathroom door opened with an obnoxious screech.

“What are you guys doing? Seriously? In here? Now?” Yuri’s voice came from behind Yuuri, sour and disapproving.

“Yakov wanted me to get you two, so come back.” Yuri said before turning around and leaving. Yuuri and Victor shared a smile.

“I won’t be able to look away.”

* * *

 One of Yuuri’s early coaches had skated back when competitions took place outside on natural ice. He would use this fact as a weapon to wield against any one who dared to complain that it was too cold, and would occasionally reminisce about how the natural ice felt beautiful and light beneath his skates, in a way dead ice above concrete could never replicate.

Yuuri felt like he understood a little what that may have been like. There’s a lightness as he entered the rink, as if his blades weren’t really touching the ice at all, and there’s a strange fear in the back of his mind that he might crash through the ice and drown at any moment.

He circled the rink, the applause loud as he found the center and took his opening position.

Yuuri looked up into the crowd as he waited for the music to begin. The benefit of not wearing his glasses was that the spectators were nothing but a soft blur and he usually did his best to imagine it was only Victor watching him from the boards.

Now, Yuuri wondered if there was someone else watching him. Someone who hadn’t wanted Yuuri to compete at all. Were they angry seeing him here? Were they waiting to see him buckle and choke? Yuuri would skate for them.

Yuuri kissed his ring and waited for the first strains of Eros to play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, there is a gap between the first three and this one. I guess I procrastinated on finishing it because I was unsure of how to tackle it exactly. I don't love how vague I am about everything, but I wanted to keep the focus on Yuuri's reaction to rather than what actually happened. The thing about my experience with homophobia is that 99% of the time your head is telling you're paranoid and really everything is fine and then suddenly! everything! is! really! not! OK! in a real and threatening way! I guess I wasn't sure on how to approach this without seeming like I was doing it for the shock value, so therefore I made what was done to Yuuri's locker purposely vague. 
> 
> In the original outline it was supposed to show Yuuri being on the podium, but as I was writing that didn't seem necessary.


End file.
